


This love is ours

by thegreatestcircus_ot3



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: F/M, Family Feels, Gratuitous Smut, Honeymoon, M/M, OT3, P.T. Barnum has a husband and a wife., Polyamory, Threesome - F/M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:21:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23634508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatestcircus_ot3/pseuds/thegreatestcircus_ot3
Summary: Now Phillip wears their rings on his finger, attesting that he is part of this small, unconventional family in his own right. Not a spare part, not a third wheel, but as vital and necessary as everyone else.OT3 honeymoon fic.
Relationships: Charity Barnum/P. T. Barnum, Charity Barnum/P. T. Barnum/Phillip Carlyle, Charity Barnum/Phillip Carlyle, P. T. Barnum/Phillip Carlyle
Comments: 2
Kudos: 63





	This love is ours

**Author's Note:**

> For [The_Girl_Who_Got_Tired_of_Waiting ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Girl_Who_Got_Tired_of_Waiting/works). Forever the best cheerleader, my anonymous frog/goose. This is entirely your fault.
> 
> This started as a small piece I wrote for fanficfeb last year and kind of...spiralled in a very self indulgent labour of love of these three dorks. Because poly, always.

He was a Barnum, in every way except in the eyes of the law.

There had been a wedding, spontaneous and special, invitation only for the nearest and dearest. The memory still warms Phillip's heart, even though it taken place on the most bitterly cold New York day in years. The snow outside was deep enough to swallow Charles whole until the only visible part of him was his hat. Shows were cancelled for the evening but the big top that day held enough energy and excitement to blow the roof off the place.

Their altar was the circus ring, stood in front of Lettie, the only person they’d ever choose to perform the ceremony. Caroline and Helen beamed as little flower girls in matching pink dresses, the troupe watched on from the stands. Phillip linked hands with Phineas and Charity, Phineas so breathtaking in his best tux and Charity radiantly beautiful in her dress; a less traditional gown of ivory, gold and red, handcrafted by her husband. He laughed when Phineas murmured a last-minute “are you sure?”, for Phillip had never been more sure of anything in his life, and said his vows to both of them, unwavering and true.

It wasn't official, never on record. Three people couldn’t yet marry each other, after all. But in the eyes of their circus family, who roared and cheered and stomped so loudly after the I dos when Phillip grabbed Phineas’ collar and pulled him down for a kiss, and when Charity brushed her pink-from-the-cold nose against Phillip’s, it was real and binding to them.

* * *

As the hour approaches midnight and their wedding day is almost over, the party shows no sign of winding down. The noise levels have risen steadily with each crate of champagne consumed, the antics growing more wild and crazy. The circus rings, instead of being used to put on a show, now host a crowd of people dancing to their own beat, laughing and joking and letting loose. While it’s no polished performance, there’s something mesmerising about the way they move. Phineas has watched countless couples pair off and not so conspicuously sneak into the shadows for some privacy- he’s sure he’ll be spending the next week trying to avoid hearing about who went with who.

In a little pocket of quiet on the first tier of the stands, Charity sits across Phineas’ lap, her head resting against his shoulder and his jacket draped over hers for warmth. She sips at a glass of water to starve off the impending headache building behind her eyes from too much champagne at the toasts. Though the party is largely thrown in Phillip’s honour, he chooses instead to sit beside them in conversation with Anne, his hand linked through Phineas’.

“Ah, here you are.”

Charles clambers up from beneath the stands. The alcohol content in his blood renders his actions clumsy and he almost falls more than once. A small group fan out around them, Lettie and Constantine’s hands entwined as they take a seat, W.D. crouching, Deng and Rosie sitting with their backs to the stands. Charles hands over a slightly crumpled white envelope as if he’s presenting them with some long lost treasure.

“Your wedding gift.”

“An envelope? Oh, Charles, you shouldn’t have.”

Phineas turns it over in his hands. It’s addressed to The Barnums’ in neat, cursive handwriting and must contain more than just a letter judging by the weight of it.

Charles rolls his eyes. “Open it, you big dummy.”

Phineas tears the paper and pulls out the note inside along with a pair of rusty keys. Charity and Phillip lean in curiously but there’s only one line of writing on the paper. An address for a town Phineas has never heard of in a place he’s never been to. For a mad fleeting second, Phineas thinks they’ve bought us a house before he dismisses it. He pays the troupe well, but he doesn’t pay them well enough to splurge on a house for their bosses. The three of them look at Charles in confusion.

“A friend of a friend knows someone with a cabin upstate. Sure, it's nowhere exotic or fancy but it’s yours for the weekend. Secluded location, fully stocked pantry. And you wanna know the best bit?” Charles wiggles his eyebrows. “Big bed."

The tips of Phillip’s ears turn pink. He ducks his head to try and hide it but Charity notices and giggles. 

Phillip clears his throat. “Are you...sending us on _honeymoon_?”

“Well, we reckon you didn’t get the chance to, first time around,” Anne reasons, nodding at Charity and Phineas.

Her guess is right; a proper wedding was a luxury they couldn't afford back then, let alone the time away from work for a honeymoon. The little money Phineas had saved when they were first married went largely towards their rings and a roof over their heads. Charity always said she wouldn’t have it any other way but Phineas hopes that maybe he gave her the wedding she deserved this time. A little unconventional, as most things in their lives seem to be, but better attended than the first, surrounded by friends and family, rather than strangers they pulled off the streets.

Phineas looks around at the troupe. "This is incredibly generous of you all but we can't just _go_ …"

He tries to give back the keys but Lettie tightens her fingers around his fist.

"You can and you will. No one wants to be around newlyweds, that's the whole point of honeymoons.” Lettie grins shamelessly at her words. “No offence."

“The circus will be fine without the two of you for a couple of days,” Anne says, her reassurance tinged with exasperation.

“Yeah, we managed for months without you before-” The rest of Charles' sentence is smothered by Anne's palm slapped across his mouth.

“But what about the girls?” Charity asks, digesting this new information. “Are they coming along too?”

“They’re staying with me and Lettie from tonight. We've got it all worked out,” Anne explains. “They’ve done well keeping it a secret from you all day. We thought Helen was going to blab for sure.”

Lettie's eyebrows draw together as she looks between the three of them. “That is, if you trust us to look after your children?"

Charity smiles and gently presses Lettie's hand. “Of course. You’re our dearest friends. There’s no one we trust more.”

Phineas nods his agreement. “They’ll have such a good weekend they’ll never want to come home again.”

“And Helen will love staying with her best friend," Phillip says, smiling at the thought.

Lettie’s cheeks flush pink in delight at the title. The deep, enduring friendship that had sprung up between Lettie and the youngest Barnum was an undisputed fact and adored by everyone in the circus. Phineas jokes that it was as if Lettie had imprinted on Helen the first time they met so now Helen follows her around like a little duckling.

“She’s in my caravan already, making herself at home in typical Barnum style.” Lettie clucks her tongue and rolls her eyes but the fond smile tugging at her lips gives her away. “So I’ll be needing the keys for the spare caravan for Con.”

“Are you sure about this? Running the circus _and_ looking after the girls? Not that we don’t appreciate it but-”

“Barnum,” Lettie cuts through wearily, fixing him with a look, “just shut up and thank us already.”

Phineas goes to shift Charity from his lap but she’s up on her feet with surprising speed and only wobbles slightly as she throws herself into Lettie’s arms. Lettie freezes, taken aback for a fraction of a second, before tentatively returning the embrace.

Phineas murmurs apologies around his laughter. He pats his wife’s back as he carefully tries to prise her away. “She gets very affectionate when she’s been drinking, you know.”

Charles snorts and elbows Phillip in the side. “It’s gonna be a fun wedding night for you.”

Phillip’s cheeks colour and he sinks down in his chair like he wants to crawl beneath the stands but the last remaining tatters of his dignity prevents him from doing so.

“Don’t make me remind her it’s you she should be hugging,” Phillip mutters darkly out the corner of his mouth.

“Oh no, Charity Barnum hugging me," Charles deadpans. “What a threat.”

Lettie looks around with wide eyes and rosy cheeks when Charity lets her go, but her smile spreads from ear to ear.

“I’m not drunk,” Charity argues, belatedly, rounding on her husband. “I can still drink you under the table, Phineas, and don’t you forget it.”

She emphasises the point by poking him in the chest with a finger. Phineas grins and takes her hands between his and brings them up to his mouth, kissing the back of each.

“Yes, my dear, I know, because you won’t ever let me forget it.” Charity makes a face at him. Phineas turns to address the group at large. “But, as always, Lettie is right and we-”

Lettie cuts across him, hand raised in the air. “Hold up, hold up. Everyone heard that, right? I have witnesses and I’m gonna use that against you, you know.” Phineas raises his eyebrows at her. Lettie’s grin only widens. She bows her head, puts on her best attempt at an English accent and says, “proceed.”

“ _As I was saying_.” Phineas raises his voice to showman levels. The music mostly drowns him out, but a few heads at the fringes turn around. “Now I know I said I wasn’t going to do any more speeches, but we do owe you all our thanks. Not just for our wedding gift, which is far and beyond anything we could’ve asked for, but also for today. Thank you for putting this together at short notice and thank you for coming out to celebrate with us in a tent on the coldest day of the year.”

This last statement earns him a few laughs.

“We’re only here for the free booze!” someone in the crowd yells. Phineas doesn’t catch who, but the tent erupts with raucous cheers and laughter.

The moment dissolves and the party continues. Phineas shakes his head fondly, feeling every bit the ignored parent but he can't find it in him to mind. He knows a lost cause when he sees one and god help anyone who tries to come between the troupe and a good time. Phineas hopes that with all the speeches and kind words that have passed between everyone today, they already know the depths of his gratitude.

Charity pats his arm and speaks words that, not for the first time, makes him wonder if she can truly read his mind. “We can thank them all on our way out.”

Charles claps Phillip on the shoulder, leans in and whispers, “Enjoy your sex holiday.”

Phillip chokes on his drink.

* * *

The three of them leave the following morning on the first train out of the city, as soon as the snow is cleared from the tracks.

Phillip grumbles and sulks the whole way to the station, impervious to Charity’s reasoning of wanting to make the most of the precious time they’ve been gifted. He promptly falls back to sleep against Phineas’ shoulder the moment they’re settled into their carriage and his loves know better than to risk his wrath for waking him a second time.

They’re all a little worse for wear, treading the delicate line between exhaustion and a hangover. They managed to slip away unseen from the party just after midnight and once they returned home, sleep was the last thing on their minds. The steady, clattering rhythm of the train tracks has a soporific effect on the mind, but the jostling and rocking wreaks havoc on their sore, aching bodies. Though she tries to hide it by shifting in her seat, Charity’s face is a near constant grimace of discomfort.

Phineas sees right through her and smirks. He slips an arm around her shoulder and presses his lips to her hairline.

“Count yourself lucky we’re not travelling on horseback,” he murmurs cheerily against Charity’s ear, laughing as her eyes narrow and she swots at him.

The journey takes the best part of the morning, slowly snaking through the suburbs and outskirts, the crowds and buildings disappearing as the scenery changes to fields and forests.

A carriage awaits them once they reach their stop, whisking them off along hairpin dirt roads and up into the snow capped mountains. The air grows bitter and thin the higher they go and the only thing in sight for miles around is the tall pine trees peeking through the clouds. Charles wasn’t lying when he said it was secluded. The path eventually runs out and they’re pointed vaguely in the direction of the house by the driver, who promptly turns and leaves them to fend for themselves.

“Why does this feel like Charles might’ve sent us out here to get murdered?” Phillip says, frowning as the carriage rapidly disappears from sight.

“Murdered by what? The abominable snowman?” Phineas grins over his shoulder. “You read too much, Phillip.”

Phineas’ face transforms with childish delight and he dumps his case on the ground and takes a running leap into a pile of snow. He lands belly down, arms outstretched, sinking into it by a good few inches. His muffled laughter fills the clearing. Charity and Phillip share a look they’ve shared countless times when their husband is up to no good.

“Come on, join me! We’re on honeymoon.”

“Yes, because nothing says honeymoon quite like snow angels.”

Charity pulls her coat tighter around herself as the wind gets up. “Can I have the keys?”

Phineas mutters something under his breath that sounds an awful lot like _spoilsports_.

“Help me up?” Phineas holds out his hand to her. She looks at the appendage and then at him with raised eyebrows, knowing full well what would happen if she were to take it.

“Please don’t insult my intelligence like this, Phineas.”

His grin widens and he grabs a fistful of snow and throws it. Charity sees it coming and ducks, but Phillip is not fast enough. The snowball explodes against his shoulder.

Phillip’s eyes go wide in betrayal. “Hey!”

“You snooze, you lose, pretty boy.”

Phineas and Charity set off running towards the cabin. He might have longer, stronger legs, but even while suffering the after effects of last night, Charity is _fast_ from spending the better part of a decade chasing down her wayward children. She darts between the trees, using them as shields from the ongoing attack, and scoops up the snow from the branches to throw at Phineas. None of her hits land their mark, Phineas just a blur of movement and laughter among the trees. Charity’s heart thunders in her ears, the freezing air biting in her lungs and she has to pause for a second to catch her breath and swipe at her streaming eyes.

At the thud of Phineas’ footsteps behind her, Charity registers her mistake but it’s too late to do anything about it.

Phineas knocks into her with enough force to send them sprawling to the ground. Winded, she stares up at the circle of grey sky between the trees, the snow quickly seeping through her coat. Phineas appears in the frame, hovering over her, grinning, apologising. Charity pushes hard at his shoulder and flips them so he’s lying on his back beneath her. Before he can react, she gathers up a handful of snow and pushes it into his face. His roar of betrayal echoes through the mountains and Charity uses the precious seconds he spends wiping snow from his eyes to steal inside his jacket pocket. Phineas’ hands claw at the hem of her coat, the tendrils of her scarf as she scrambles to her feet and runs like death itself is on her heels.

Phillip waits outside the cabin with their forgotten luggage, sensible enough to exclude himself from their childish games. Charity darts behind him and tucks her face between his shoulder blades.

“Truce!” she yells as Phineas comes bounding over. Phillip stumbles backwards and Charity finds herself pressed to the wall and her stomach to Phillip’s spine.

Phineas stalks a semi circle around them like a cat waiting for the opportune moment to pounce.

“Not a truce. You’ve got nowhere to go now and Phillip can’t hide you forever. So I think the person with the keys gets to decide when the truce is called.”

For a split second decision, she really couldn’t have planned it any better. Charity steps out from behind the shield of Phillip’s body.

“I think you’re absolutely right, dear.”

Charity pulls from her pocket the envelope containing the keys, brandishing it like a trophy. He touches a hand to the jacket pocket where it once sat, finding it empty. His jaw slackens, his burst of surprised laughter a silvery cloud in the air.

Phineas crosses to her in one long stride and sinks to his knees, wrapping his arms around her waist. He looks up at her with big starry eyes, chin resting against her belly.

“Marry me?” he asks, soft and achingly earnest, knocking the rhythm of Charity’s heart off course. “For the third time, the tenth time, I don’t care.”

It might be an overreaction to a simple sleight of hand, but that’s the Phineas she knows and loves. Happiness sings in her veins and she feels dizzy and silly with it, like a schoolgirl with a crush. Charity runs her fingers through Phineas’ curls, damp from the snow, his hat knocked off and lost somewhere along the way.

She’s taken back to the first time he proposed to her, in the middle of the street holding a ring he’d bought with almost every cent to his name, eyes wide with uncertainty and hope, like she could ever possibly refuse him, like she hadn’t dreamt for years about being his wife.

“I’d gladly marry you a hundred times over.” Charity looks over at Phillip and laces their hands together. “Both of you. Get up here before you freeze, you ridiculous, wonderful man.”

Phineas does as he’s told, brushing the snow from his knees. Gentle, lingering kisses are traded between them, warmth spreading out across Charity’s cheeks and down her neck from where their mouths meet.

Phillip pipes up. “If I had known that thievery was the key- no pun intended- to an instant proposal around here, I would’ve taken tips from O’Malley years back.”

Phineas takes Phillip’s face in his hands and kisses down the curve of his nose.

“But you swooped in and stole our hearts, so really, our dear darling Phillip, _you’ve_ been the thief all along.”

Phillip’s cheeks turn pink, and not, Charity suspects, from the cold.

Charity puts the key in the lock and turns it. The door swings open with a creak, affording them with a view of the small, cosy living room within. She takes a step forward but then she’s lifted off her feet with Phineas and Phillip either side of her, holding under her arms and under her knees. They carry her across the threshold and-

“Oh!”

Laughter bursts from her chest.

“Put me _down_ ; you already did this last night. We don’t even live here!”

They deposit her just inside the doorway and bestow a kiss upon each cheek. Charity tries her best to look perturbed, swotting feebly at Phineas’ shoulder, but she’s too charmed to pull it off.

“It’s tradition,” Phillip says by way of explanation, offering a small shrug.

His fingers go to the buttons of her coat and Charity links her hands behind the back of his neck. She kisses over the stubble on his chin, kisses the corner of his mouth, the tip of his nose, and each time she does, Phillip fumbles his task.

“So are you going to carry me across every threshold for the rest of our marriage?” Charity wonders aloud, voice light and humorous, knowing that if that was what she wanted, they’d do it for her in a second.

Her palms follow a slow path south, slipping beneath Phillip’s shirt collar, the firm muscles in his chest tensing and flexing under her touch as she peels away the layers between herself and the thud thud thud of his heart.

Phineas helps Charity slip her arms from her coat. He lingers behind her, his voice a sultry murmur against her ear. “Don’t pretend you don’t love being swept off your feet.”

The shiver that runs through Charity has little to do with the exposure of her skin to the frigid air. Phineas’ hands are cold through the material of her dress, his breath hot over her shoulder blades and the contrast between the two has her pressing into him, her spine to his belly.

“Need to get you out of these wet clothes, beautiful.”

Heat radiates from the core of Phineas’ body, Phillip’s mouth a hot, insistent pressure on her neck and her dress clinging around the backs of her legs is really only a minor, unpleasant distraction in the face of that.

Before she can make sense of it, Charity is bare from the waist up, her stockings and shoes the last to be peeled away, the rest of her clothes shed with a heart racing efficiency and speed she makes a mental note to compliment them on later.

She preens under Phillip’s hungry gaze, savouring the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he drinks her in. Phineas leaves frosty fingerprints across the cradle of her hips and she shudders at the touch. He turns her around and she peers up into Phineas’ face, noting the sweat at his brow and his dilated pupils, pleased to see her body has had the same effect on him as it did on Phillip.

“There’s our good girl.”

The fondness in Phineas’ voice murmuring the words she so loves to hear turns her knees to water. His honey eyes shine with adoration, bright and eternal as stardust, gathered from the depths of his soul, filling her heart fit to burst. Gathered tightly in his arms, Phillip’s arms, too, wrapping around her waist, Charity feels like the most precious creation in the world.

Phillip’s presence disappears from behind her and a small, bereft noise escapes her throat. Phineas murmurs something against her ear but she doesn’t catch it because he’s turning her again, moving her within the circle of his embrace, and she has to remember the mechanics of walking. The floorboards are painfully icy beneath the soles of her feet. A moment later, Charity finds herself again with Phillip at her back and Phineas at her front, and she glances over her shoulder to see Phillip trapped between her and the wall.

Excitement pumps the blood faster and hotter within her at the thought of what she hopes is to come.

Something out the corner of her eye forces her heart up into her throat.

“The door!” Charity pushes at Phineas’ chest. “Phin, you need to close the-”

Phineas makes no attempt to rectify the situation, remaining calm in the face of her panic. He tilts her chin up until their eyes meet. “Why? There’s no one but us for miles. Be as loud as you like.”

Phillip’s fingertips trail the valley of her breasts, soft hands gently squeezing her curves, slowly pushing thoughts of the open door and random passers-by to the farthest corners of her mind. Phineas takes a nipple between his lips and Charity stops thinking altogether, her moans pitching up into a whine. His hands dip between her legs and Charity’s head falls back against Phillip’s shoulder, lips parting on a blissful sigh.

Phineas swipes his fingers over her slick, heated flesh and desire surges like lightning along her nerve endings. She tries to spread herself wider and her heartbeat pulses through every part of her, wanting Phineas to sink those fingers knuckle deep inside her. As if reading her mind, Phineas smirks and does the exact opposite, bringing his arousal slick digits up so they all can see them.

“Look at the mess you made, you needy thing."

Heat simmers beneath Charity’s skin and turns her cheeks from pink to red. She longs to hide behind her curtain of hair. They’ve barely even touched her yet and already her body gives away her desperation.

“Let me taste?” Phillip requests. The three of them moan in unison as he takes Phineas’ glistening fingers between his lips, the noises of his mouth suckling eagerly wet and obscene.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Charity complains. She’s managed to slip Phineas’ suspenders from their perch but his shirt buttons are fumbley and tiny and far beyond her level of concentration. Ripping at them would only incur his grumbling later on, forever a tailor’s boy at heart.

Phineas wraps his hands around hers and pulls them away from their task.

“Only one of us needs to be undressed for this, sweetheart.”

Charity whimpers, the deep timbre of his voice cutting to her core and the implication behind his words tightening her stomach.

It would probably be more comfortable for him to remove his damp clothes, but he opts to keep them on because he knows full well the depravity of being entirely exposed between her lovers’ while they’re still dressed, boots and all, makes Charity’s head spin.

With a slow, knowing grin, he instead guides her hands to the front of his trousers. Charity’s mouth waters as she palms the straining bulge, feeling the searing heat of him even through the layers. Unable to help herself, she drops to her knees, pulling a questioning noise from Phineas and she answers it by placing lazy, sloppy kisses over the rigid outline, darkening the fabric. Phineas’ hand comes to rest atop her head, Phillip’s fingertips brushing her shoulder blades as he bunches up her hair, and she nuzzles her cheek against Phineas’ crotch, her hot billowing breath enough to make him tremble when he’s aroused.

“Charity,” he says, her name a command tinged with impatience.

Charity looks him in the eye and drags the flat of her tongue along the length of his clothed cock, smirking as his fingers twitch and tighten against her scalp. Satisfied for now with her teasing, she rises to her feet. Phillip’s arms envelop her waist, pulling their bodies flush together, his erection digging into her backside.

Phineas’ deft fingers unbutton his trousers in a few quick movements and his cock springs free, standing thick and curved towards his belly. Charity’s breath quickens and Phillip makes a hungry, whimpering noise against her ear. Phineas lets them stare- he always was so damn proud of his cock- and laughs softly, dark eyes glossy with delight.

“So easy, aren’t you, my pretty little loves."

Neither of them bother to dispute it.

Instead, Charity tugs him closer by the waistband and touches his jaw to pull him down for a kiss, messy, unhurried. She works a fist over his cock and brushes her tongue against his in time with her movements, pulling a long, guttural moan from the depths of his chest cavity.

Phineas hooks his hands under Charity’s thighs and lifts her off her feet, chuckling at her startled yelp. He secures her calves around his waist and Charity winds her arms around his neck, her back supported by Phillip’s chest. It will never not set her belly alight with arousal that he can hold her up like it’s nothing and Charity appreciates regular demonstrations of this strength, something that Phillip was happy to get on board with too. She hums happily, trapped between the press of their bodies and she cannot think of any better place to be in the world.

Phillip’s big, warm palms encircle her hips and his mouth suckles over the pulse point at her throat. Charity keens, toes curling as Phineas tucks her hair back and trails a hot path of kisses down the other side of her neck. She squirms, skin so receptive it’s like she’s set aflame with every small touch.

“ _Please_ ,” Charity gasps, hardly knowing what she’s asking for.

Phineas’ cock nestles against her thigh and the ache between her legs swells to an unbearable white hot pulse, to have him so close but not yet where she needs him the most. He captures her mouth with his. The world narrows to the taste of his breath and the curl of his tongue against hers sends shivers down her spine.

“Shhh.” Phineas smooths a hand over her hair and she hopes he’ll never stop looking at her like it’s the first time all over again, his golden eyes brimming with warmth akin to that of the sun, saturing through every pore and taking root in her heart. “Don’t I always take care of you?”

Charity rolls her eyes but concedes the point with a smile. “Always.”

The air in the room rises a few degrees as Phineas braces one hand on the wall and takes hold of his cock with the other. Charity feels the rapid rise and fall of Phillip’s chest in time with hers, the soft brush of his clothing setting off goosebumps along her bare skin. Anticipation pulses through her body, her inner thighs sticky and wet with arousal and the thought that Phineas must be able to feel how desperate she is brings a deeper blush to her cheeks. He doesn’t tease her for it now though, and somehow that makes it worse.

He presses his forehead to hers, and with eyes locked upon each other, Phineas slowly eases inside her. Charity digs her heels into the small of his back, tightening her limbs around him, his shirt balled up in her fists, needing him closer, always. The fullness of his cock catches the breath in her chest, her body willingly surrendering to the exquisite stretch of all of him. Sweat breaks out along Charity's hair line, the front of Phineas’ shirt crumpled and saturated with dark patches, the heat of the three of them enough to starve off the mountain chill.

Phineas slides home, head dropping to her shoulder as she moans and whimpers around the welcome intrusion. Her name becomes a raspy, ruined mantra passed between her two men. The room fills with the sound of their heavy breathing, Phineas sucking in lungfuls of air, his body trembling and wound tight against hers and Charity feels an indescribable rush of power to reduce him to this. Phillip’s hands find Phineas’ holding her hips and he slots their fingers together over flushed skin, and with Charity’s hand atop the pile, the circle is complete.

“Love you,” Phillip murmurs, quiet and a little overwhelmed, but undeniable, against her ear.

Charity’s stomach swoops like she’s falling. She wishes she could see Phillip’s face but settles for turning her head and kissing at any skin she can reach. “I love you, too. Both of you, so very much.”

“Me, three,” Phineas adds, his lips at her collarbone, and they laugh at the perfect ridiculousness of the life they share.

Needing to do something about the thick, unescapable pressure inside her, needing Phineas to move already, Charity reaches up and back, looping her arms around Phillip’s neck. She grabs at his collar and uses the leverage to roll her hips down on Phineas’ cock as much as she’s able to in the space between their bodies, seeking that sweet friction.

Phillip laughs. “I think that’s a hint, Phin.”

“So demanding.”

Charity arches her eyebrows at him. “Well if you’re not up to the task, dear, I know someone who _is_.”

His face darkens, the hands on her hips tightening to bruising strength. “Not up to the task, huh? I’ll show _you_ , Charity Barnum."

“Oh, please do,” she purrs. Sometimes he makes it so very easy to push his buttons.

But then he knows how to push hers too. Phineas pulls back so only the very tip of his cock is encased inside her and smirks that infuriating smirk as he watches Charity whimper and squirm and chase after more. Phillip’s grip is vice like around her hips, keeping her still, and she whines at the betrayal. It’s almost more than she can bear, left bereft and empty. Charity clenches around him just to see his eyes flash dangerously.

This time when he buries himself to the hilt, Charity crying out as he does, there is no more teasing, no more being gentle. Phineas moves to a frenzied rhythm, his strokes short but deep in the hairbreadth space between their bodies, each thrust spearing straight to the core of her pleasure. Charity can feel every single perfect inch of him, the fullness indescribable, teetering on the cusp of too much after the debauchery of last night, their wedding night, but she takes it all for more of that beautiful, filthy praise murmured against her lips as Phineas fucks into her.

Entirely at his mercy, Charity claws angry red marks into his skin, the back of his neck, his scalp, clinging to his biceps, feeling the muscles corded tight beneath the fabric with the effort of holding her up. Phillip’s moans join the swelling melody of their coupling, the lewd beat of their hips colliding, and when his lips find that sensitive spot just beneath Charity’s ear, stars supernova behind her eyelids and flare red hot embers down her spine.

Charity feels herself slowly slipping down Phillip’s body inch by inch from the force of their movements, her backside pressed snug against the searing line of his cock, the front of his trousers a damp sticky patch of arousal that could belong to either of them, or both. Phineas angles his hips up to compensate and her shout of bliss is loud enough to echo through the mountains as he brushes a spot that sets her insides quivering.

Phineas croons, pride shining in his eyes. “ _There_ you go. Is that what you wanted?”

“Yes,” Charity gasps. "Do it again."

He does, and Charity feels close to shattering, sinking her teeth into the meat of Phineas' shoulder hard enough to draw blood.

Two sets of hands are _everywhere_ , squeezing her thighs, her breasts, nails sunk into her backside, and as they work in tandem to bring her to the height of ecstasy, Charity can no longer tell what belongs to who. She only remembers her name because it’s the word pouring over and over from Phineas’ lips and Charity drags his mouth to hers to feel the shape of those letters.

Phillip reaches between her legs and Charity arches against his coaxing fingers and rolls her hips down on Phineas’ cock to meet each thrust, twin points of pleasure spreading out from the join of their bodies. They pant raggedly into the sweltering heat between them, skin slippery with sweat as they cling to one another. Phillip kneads handfuls of her backside. She hears Phineas’ sharp intake of breath, feels him twitch inside her.

“ _Christ_ , Phillip.”

She glances down between their bodies and Phillip’s fist encircles the base of Phineas’ cock, working in reverse to Phineas’ movements, stroking along the length each time Phineas rolls his hips back.

Phillip nibbles at Charity’s earlobe and when he speaks, his voice rasps with devious suggestion. “Think you can take a bit more for me?”

Charity hums uncomprehendingly, head lolling. _More_?

Her answer is the pad of Phillip’s finger pressing up against where Phineas is already buried. All the air rushes from Charity’s lungs and Phineas stills, eyes wide and searching hers. The surprise of it quickly fades to the undeniable thrill licking up her spine, igniting the want in her gut to a wildfire that burns so bright it threatens to consume her. At her shaky nod, Phineas and Phillip hold each other's gaze over her shoulder and slowly breach her, together.

Phillip’s finger presses in alongside Phineas’ cock, the stretch exceptional. Charity knows she’s taken more than this before, but now she whimpers into Phineas’ chest, feeling like there’s not even enough room left inside her to draw breath. A few careful pumps and she falls hard and sudden, tensing around them as she unravels. Phineas slides home a final time, throws his head back and plunges into blissful oblivion after her.

Long moments pass where there is only the sound of their breathing and the wind howling through the trees. Her lover's sodden clothing now sticks unpleasantly to her front and back and Charity shifts restlessly between them, her limbs begging for a change of position. She gently bumps her forehead against Phineas’.

“Need to take care of Phillip.”

Phillip clears his throat, unable to catch Phineas’ eye. “Actually, you don’t. You were rubbing against me and...” he trails off, squirming in embarrassment.

Phineas makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan at the thought of Phillip spilling untouched because of them. 

Charity is set down carefully, Phineas' hands hovering around her waist her like he doesn’t trust her legs not to give out from under her, a concern her trembling knees agree with. Keen to avoid the icy floor, she tiptoes over to the couch and wraps the waiting woollen blanket around herself. Now she's longer held between two sweaty bodies, Charity realises just how cold the room is and that they really _did_ do all of that with the door still open.

Phineas touches a hand to the damp patch stretching out across the front of Phillip’s trousers, a look of smug fascination on his face.

“Well, I think we can safely say we started this honeymoon off right.”

His declaration is met with weary yet heartfelt approval.

* * *

Dinner is a simple affair that evening. The decision as to who gets to make it is anything _but_.

The kitchen in the cabin is unsophisticated and a fraction of the size of their one at home, where there’s more than enough room for all five Barnums’ to sit and talk and play while preparing a meal. Now they bicker over the task, each of them insisting that they alone be the one to do it. Phillip is particularly keen to show off what he’s learnt over the past year, to prove himself, but Phineas ends up all but pushing him and Charity out the kitchen, suggesting instead that they go put their feet up and read to each other while they wait.

Once upon a time, Phillip wouldn’t have had the slightest clue what to do if someone asked him to make a pot of tea. Something so simple, yet of course he’d never had to do it for himself before. He lived a life where absolutely everything, from the moment he woke to the moment he went to bed, was done for him. While he picked up a few everyday things from being around the circus folk- how to brew a decent pot of coffee was a necessity- Phillip hadn’t realised the true depths of his uselessness until he was disowned and forced to fend for himself.

Fortunately, Charity recognised his struggle early on, having been more or less in the same situation, though she had her prince rescue her much sooner than Phillip did. She was raised, as was the case for all young ladies of her class, with the ultimate goal of becoming a respectable wife and producer of heirs to some rich gentleman, taught how to graciously preside over her lovely home, while all the important behind the scenes tasks were to be left to the household staff. Naturally, she and Phineas did not have household staff when they eloped. She had to learn everything from scratch.

When Phillip became a permanent fixture in the Barnum household, so did regular cooking lessons with Charity. It started small at first, with Phillip offering to set and clear the dining table, and slowly progressed to chopping vegetables, stirring dishes, making sauces. He likes to help out in the kitchen where he can, Charity’s calm voice in his ear instructing him, and he finds he likes it even more when she sneaks in kisses as a reward.

The cabin has floor to ceiling shelves stocked with literature- it seems there is little else to do out in the wilderness in the depths of winter. The owner’s tastes seem to err more on the macabre and obscure end of the scale but Phillip finds it refreshing to scan the shelves and not to find familiar names jump out at him, names of people he was rubbing shoulders with not so long ago, popular titles he’d discussed to death.

There are a few anomalies that cause him pause. Phillip pulls _Pride and Prejudice_ from the shelf, remembering that the ladies he’d known in the past found Austen’s novels agreeable, but Charity is not like any other lady. She eyes the cover and wrinkles her nose at his choice.

“Why would I want to read about a world I escaped from at the first opportunity? I’d much rather read about a world I’d love to escape _to_.”

It’s a statement Phillip finds himself in total agreement with.

Charity’s fingertips wander along the spines and settle on Verne instead. She hands him _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea_ and they settle down together, wrapped in blankets in front of the fireplace.

It’s admittedly not a title he’s familiar with, nor one he would’ve chosen for himself. But, as is often the case when reading aloud to Charity, Phillip finds the greatest amusement in her reactions. The way she consumes his narration with rapturous attention, the way her breathing quickens at an exciting part, how she’ll gasp at a twist she didn’t see coming, sob when a beloved character dies. Her daughters are much the same when Phillip reads them a bedtime story and he hopes none of the Barnum ladies ever lose their unabashed love of literature. If such a tragedy were to befall, Phillip would gladly lose his voice every night and go through every book in the library trying to convince them otherwise.

“Perhaps we should get out and explore the area while we’re here,” Charity suggests later on. Their plates are now empty, their bellies full, and a state of sleepiness hangs over the table that comes with a good meal and a warm fire. The comfort of the couch is only a few steps away but it seems none of them have the energy to make it that far.

“Explore what, exactly?” Phillip quips, grinning. “Trees and snow?”

She shrugs one shoulder with the delicacy of a lady. “There must be something to see. Even if we just take a wander back to the town.”

“We didn’t come here to _sightsee_ , Charity.”

Phillip drops his gaze slowly, deliberately, to her lips, watching them part to draw in a quick, shaky breath, before dragging his eyes back up to hers. Her cheeks flush prettily in the candlelight.

Charity’s voice is a little unsteady as she turns her attention to Phineas. “What do you think, Phin?”

Phineas blinks in that startled way Phillip knows from past experience means he hasn’t listened to a single word that’s been said in many minutes. This time at least he doesn’t bluster and pretend like he has, simply offers a rueful smile. “I’m sorry, dearest?”

Charity returns the smile with the patience of a saint and reaches across the table to thread their fingers together.

“What were you thinking about?”

A crooked grin tugs at the corners of Phineas’ mouth. He drums his fingers idly against the wine glass before raising it to his lips. “Well truthfully I was thinking about how much I want Phillip’s cock in my mouth right now.” Phineas’ grin widens at the audible catch in Phillip’s breath. “But that doesn’t seem like a dinner table appropriate topic.”

Charity’s eyes sparkle with amusement as she looks at Phineas over the brim of her glass. If she’s surprised by the abrupt shift in the conversation, she doesn’t show it. Phillip, on the other hand, feels like his head is spinning. “I think the table cares little for appropriate since we’ve defiled it once already.”

Phillip clears his throat and wills his voice not to shake. “I'd be interested in hearing more on this topic.”

“I want to get on my knees under the table and make you come.” Phineas’ voice is as casual as if they were in the office discussing business. Phillip’s pulse races, his trousers becoming uncomfortably tight at the proposition. “Is that something you’d be interested in?”

“Yes,” Phillip chokes, barely able to get the word out in his eagerness. He’s clumsy reaching for Phineas, his hands shaking, and their lips graze, not quite a kiss.

Phineas takes Phillip’s chin in hand and tilts his head until their eyes meet. “Yes, what? You’re forgetting a word, darling.”

“Yes, _please_.”

“We must remember our manners at the dinner table, Phillip,” Phineas reproves playfully and captures Phillip’s mouth with his own. Charity’s silvery laughter is a hot burst of air against Phillip’s ear, her nimble fingers toying with his shirt buttons.

All thought flies clean out his head as Phineas’ hand drops to his lap and squeezes Phillip through the fabric. Phillip’s hips rise off the chair, his moans slurred in the heated space between them. Charity’s lips chart a hot path along his jaw and he whimpers at the added pressure of her hand resting over Phineas’ as together they coax his rapidly filling cock.

Phineas pulls away for a moment to finish the last of his wine and Phillip watches the elegant column of his throat working as he swallows. The drink stains his lips so temptingly, sinfully red in the candlelight. Then his chair is pushed back and Phineas sinks gracefully to his knees between Phillip’s parted legs.

The sight of Phineas looking up at him with big, gleaming eyes is one that always does unspeakable things to Phillip’s insides. The circus king brought low, whether it’s for Phillip or Charity, he’ll hand over his crown in an instant when required, so eager is he to please. Charity makes an approving noise and reaches out to touch Phineas’ cheek.

Phineas unbuttons Phillip’s trousers and reaches inside to touch him, skin on skin. Phillip hisses at the contact and Charity murmurs against his ear but he doesn’t catch the words. He loops an arm around Charity’s waist and pulls her closer, kissing at a patch of pale skin exposed as her nightgown slips down her shoulder. Phineas watches them, smiling adoringly, then draws Phillip’s cock from his trousers to stroke him, slow and firm.

Phillip shudders and moans, rocking his hips up into Phineas’ fist. Lazy, open mouthed kisses are pressed along his length, Phineas working the head with his fingers like he has all the time in the world, his expression one of savoured bliss.

Phillip caresses the side of Phineas’ face. “Is this what you wanted?”

“Been thinking about it all day.”

The honesty in Phineas’ voice halts the teasing words in Phillip’s throat.

With that, he lowers his head and takes Phillip into his hot, wet mouth. One hand grasps the base of Phillip’s cock tightly and with the other, Phineas twined their fingers together. Charity strokes Phillip’s hair as his head falls back, moaning at the exquisite suction around his cock. She kisses along the curve of his neck and Phillip cries out, dizzy and overwhelmed from the attention. It’s too much, too good, and for the thousandth time, Phillip wonders how he got so lucky that this is his life now.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Phillip gasps as Phineas teases him more, bobbing his head, gliding his tongue over the sensitive underside of Phillip’s cock.

Charity guides Phillip’s hand to her breasts and he turns his head to the side to see that perfect canvas of skin now bared to him, her nightgown pooled in her lap. Phillip squeezes her breast, rolling his thumb over the nipple, feeling it harden. No longer content to simply watch, Charity throws him a wicked grin and brings one leg up to rest her toes on the edge of Phillip’s chair. Hitching up her gown, she spreads her legs and reaches down to touch herself. Phillip and Phineas groan in union, pleasure shooting through Phillip at the vibrations around his cock.

Phillip curls a hand around the back of Charity’s neck and brings her mouth to his, their moans mixed between staccato breaths, the taste of wine on Charity’s tongue as they kiss. Phineas pulls back to lap at the glossy head of Phillip’s cock, the action a little sloppy from where his gaze is fixed almost hypnotically upon Phillip and Charity.

“You know, I never tire of him looking at us like that,” Charity remarks breathlessly, tangling a hand in Phineas’ hair.

Phillip hums in agreement. At first he hadn’t known what to do with himself when Phineas looked at him with eyes brimming with such heartrendingly tender emotion. He’d gotten so used to being regarded with disdain or indifference that any positive emotion sent his way was a shock to the system. Now Phillip basks in the warmth of Charity and Phineas’ open and free affection, more grateful for it than they’ll ever know.

“Like what?” Phineas challenges, his voice rough and raspy. “Like you’re the two most beautiful people I’ve ever set eyes on and I can’t believe how lucky I am to call you my husband and wife?”

“Well I was going to say lovestruck, but yours works.”

Phineas grins and kisses the back of Charity’s hand. “That too.”

He returns his attention to Phillip’s cock, now thick and aching against Phillip’s stomach, swallowing him with renewed vigour. Phillip slides down in the chair a little as his hips stutter, gasping at the flutter of Phineas’ throat. Charity removes her hand from Phineas’ hair and replaces it with Phillip’s. Phineas moans encouragingly as Phillip’s grip tightens, holding him in place as he fucks Phineas’ mouth.

Charity guides Phillip’s other hand between her legs, sliding his fingers over her flesh, listening to the way her breath hitches when he pleases her. He curls two fingers into Charity’s slick heat and she pants raggedly against his neck, grinding down on his hand. Phineas watches, enthralled. Phillip can’t take his eyes from his cock disappearing between Phineas’ swollen lips. His body is one long throb of intense pleasure, enjoying the attention lavished upon him by his two loves.

With all this stimulation, Phillip knows he isn’t going to last. He shudders, sinking his fingernails into the chair, trying to hold himself back from the brink for just a moment longer. Charity clenches around him, and it is the combination of her soft, aroused sounds in his ear and Phineas’ dark, wet eyes staring up at him that finally tip Phillip over. Unable to stop himself, he drives into Phineas’ mouth as his climax flows through him in irresistible pulses.

Phineas swallows around Phillip’s cock, devouring him hungrily, stroking him to taste every drop. Waves of bliss are all Phillip knows and he surrenders himself to it. He feels gentle hands caressing his body, his face, his hair, hearing their honied cadence of speech as if through water, his breathing loud in his ears.

Phillip comes back to Phineas and Charity’s soft, fond smiles, their touch a slow, sweeping comfort he always needs in this moment of vulnerability. His spent cock has been neatly tucked away and Phineas rises from his knees to kiss him soundly, Phillip groaning as he tastes himself there.

“Beautiful, my love,” Phineas purrs, bestowing a final kiss to Phillip’s forehead. “Charity, sweetheart, stand up for me? It would be impolite to leave a lady unsatisfied after all.”

Her gown falls to the floor as she stands and she kicks it away. With Charity’s foot resting on the chair, steadying herself by holding Phineas’ shoulder, Phillip sinks his fingers inside her once more. Together they build a steady rhythm, Charity’s eyelids fluttering and her lips parting to issue a stream of soft sighs as he crooks his fingers just right.

Phillip eyes the generous curve of Phineas’ cock, hard and straining against the fabric. He looks demurely up at Phineas through his lashes.

“And it would be rude to not take care of my husband.”

Phineas laughs. “You’re learning.”

He brings Phineas closer, mouthing at him through his trousers. Phillip’s other hand is preoccupied with Charity’s pleasure, so Phineas pulls himself out and slowly eases his cock between Phillip’s parted lips. Phillip takes it eagerly, loving the feeling of being stretched to accommodate the length and girth, the fullness of him pushing at the back of his throat until every breath is just Phineas and his scent and his taste.

Phineas ducks his head to kiss Charity. It’s a heady experience, Phillip finds, almost enough for his cock to perk up again in interest, to hear them moaning into each other’s mouth while he is the cause of those noises. Phineas grips Charity’s hip, pulling her down harder onto Phillip’s hand while he nudges himself further into Phillip’s mouth.

“That’s it, good girl,” Phineas croons, nuzzling into her sweat soaked hair.

“Please-” she gasps, a choked off desperate sound. Her head falls back, movements turning hard and unsteady, and Phineas trails his lips down the arch of her throat. Charity tightens around Phillip’s fingers; her neck is her weak spot, a fact that is mercilessly used against her.

“You gonna come for us?” At Charity’s breathless affirmative, Phineas wraps an arm around her waist to help her balance. “Phillip’s fingers feel so good, don't they? He’s always been so good with his hands.”

Charity trembles, thighs straining, her moans growing in pitch and volume as she works herself closer to climax. Phillip can do little else but stare up at them in wonder, surrounded by them, his mouth full of Phineas and his fingers pumping in and out of Charity’s wet heat.

Tension mounts Charity’s body, her melodious moans breaking in the middle as she comes, hot and tight and perfect around Phillip. The sight and feel of her body at the peak of pleasure is intoxicating, the way her chest heaves as she gasps for breath, the way her lips shape a name that could belong to either husband. She shudders into Phineas’ chest and he holds her close, soothing words murmured against her skin.

Phillip slowly withdraws his fingers, Charity whimpering at the loss, and they groan in union as Phineas brings Phillip’s hand up to his mouth. Phineas licks at the digits, slick with Charity’s release, with exaggerated strokes and a twinkle in his eye that says he knows that Phillip is thinking about where that tongue was only moments before.

The teasing only encourages Phillip to take as much of Phineas as possible into his mouth. With Phineas’ hand on the back of his neck to guide him, Phillip bobs his head along the length, sucking in his cheeks in the way he knows Phineas likes. His nose nudges Phineas’ pelvis and he holds for several heartbeats, self gratification flooding through him at the guttural, wrecked noise Phineas makes, until Phillip has to pull back, gasping, eyes streaming.

“Mm, the mouth on you, Phillip,” Phineas murmurs. The reverence in his voice brings a deeper colour to Phillip’s skin. He traces Phillip’s stretched lips with the pad of his thumb before slipping the digit in alongside his cock. Phillip’s jaw already aches wrapped around Phineas’ impressive size, but he willingly takes more just to put that devilish proud smile on his face. “You love being used by us, don’t you?”

Phillip moans his agreement and Phineas hisses and rolls his hips forwards with a throaty, “ _Fuck_.”

He feels hot all over at the reminder of the nights when they take pleasure from his body and allow him none of his own until they’ve satisfied themselves over and over and decorated his skin with evidence of their enjoyment. It should be degrading, to be used so thoroughly, not by one but by two people. But as they found out long ago, nothing sets Phillip’s blood alight quite like it.

Phineas tightens his grip in Phillip’s hair, a tremor running through his body. He thrusts once, twice, into Phillip’s mouth and finally comes with a long, deep groan. Phineas’ release floods Phillip’s throat and he does his best to swallow it all. His chin gets a little messy, but Phineas has a soft spot for seeing Phillip all messed up and ruined.

Phillip’s lovers stand before him, weak and shaky from climax, nuzzling their faces into each other’s hair. Both of them because of Phillip and at the dinner table no less. A slow, satisfied smile creeps across his face, enjoying the rush in his veins, still scarcely believing he did all that.

“Would you look at that grin.” Phineas laughs softly, tucking a finger under Phillip’s chin to tilt his face up. Their eyes meet and Phillip is sure his smile must be big and bright enough to light up the circus tent. “Yeah, you should be proud of yourself, darling, you made us feel so good.”

A lump lodges itself in Phillip’s throat and he doesn’t trust himself to speak, just lets his face be peppered with kisses. He loves feeling important and wanted, a concept denied to him for so many years, and there’s no place he feels it more than when he’s being cherished by Phineas and Charity. Especially now he wears their rings on his finger, attesting that he is part of this small, unconventional family in his own right. Not a spare part, not a third wheel, but as vital and necessary as everyone else.

Phillip feels a new, hot, wet pressure around his chin and he opens his eyes, unaware he’d closed them in the first place, to find Charity sat beside, him licking the come from his skin. He groans weakly; their eagerness to taste one another in the filthiest ways always stoked a deep heat in his gut.

“What’s for dessert?” Phillip asks, only half joking, earning tired laughter from his loves.

“Don’t be a brat," Phineas chides, pinching Phillip's side. "That _was_ dessert.”

Phillip hums and cocks his head, considering. “Is there more?”

Charity nips at his ear. “Greedy boy.”

Phineas stands on unsteady legs and offers out his hands to them.

“Come to bed and we’ll find out.”

* * *

Phineas wakes with the sun.

It’s a lifelong habit he’s never been able to break, deeply ingrained from the time when he’d be lucky to grab a few hours of fitful dozing in a store doorway before the owners turned up and kicked him to the curb. Even now he owns half the circus and could arguably turn up at whatever time he wanted, much like Phillip does, there’s still two little girls who rise at the first sign of birdsong and like to squeeze and push their way in until every person in the bed is wide awake and has an elbow or knee pressing in an uncomfortable place.

Phillip will grumble and groan about the disturbance if he’s not placated with breakfast and kisses, but it’s Phineas’ favourite time of day. He likes to be the first of three to wake, likes to take those rare moments of peace and put that day’s most brilliant idea on the back burner for a while, choosing instead to savour the soft cadence of his loves’ breathing and the heat of their bodies curled against his.

They may live in the same house and share a business but there are some hateful weeks when they all get so busy, the only time they see one another is upon waking together. So now Phineas makes a point to cherish watching the dawn light play across Charity’s face and commits to memory the snuffling sounds Phillip makes when he’s dreaming, and the feel of them lying so close to him gets him through the times when they’re apart.

It’s a novelty for them to wake a heap of tangled limbs and bare skin, the bedroom door ajar and the smell of sex still lingering in the twisted sheets. They always have to be so careful about dressing afterwards, or locking the door beforehand - lessons Phineas and Charity learnt the hard way as new parents.

A furrow deepens between Phillip’s eyebrows, as if his subconscious is aware it’s almost time to wake and is protesting against greeting the day. Phineas touches Phillip’s jaw and carefully tilts his head towards him, pressing his lips to that frown until it smooths out and the corners of Phillip’s mouth curl upwards. Phineas’ heart thuds out of time and he draws Phillip closer, brushing his fingertips across sleep warmed skin from elbow to collarbone. Having spent so many years craving affection, Phillip seems to sense it now even when he’s dreaming, and he sighs and nuzzles into Phineas’ shoulder.

Charity’s hand twitches and clenches where it rests on Phineas’ stomach. Phineas tangles his fingers through hers and squeezes. She mutters something unintelligible under her breath and Phineas turns an ear towards the sound; Charity sleep talks every now and then and he half hopes she’ll say something he can tease her about later. Phineas brushes the hair from her face, her eyelids fluttering as he traces her cheekbones.

“Helen,” she murmurs, batting his hand away. “Helen, go and get ready for school.”

He kisses the top of her head to smother his laughter.

“It’s the weekend, my love, and we’re on honeymoon.”

Charity makes a confused sound in the back of her throat and after a few seconds lifts herself up onto one elbow. She blinks owlishly round at the room as reality catches up with her sleep-muddled mind. Her gaze shifts to Phineas and her face splits into a smile that would put even the most beautiful sunset to shame. Phineas curls a hand around the back of her neck and brings their lips together, not caring about anything but the radiance of that smile warming him from head to toe.

“Good morning, darling wife.”

Charity tucks her face into the crook of his neck, fingertips tracing idle patterns across his clavicle. “You know, this reminds me of when we were first married.”

Phineas hums in agreement. Back when there were just the two of them in their tiny apartment, they never could’ve imagined how their family would grow to encompass two precious girls, a lover-turned-second-husband, and an entire circus and animal menagerie. Back then, despite Phineas’ best efforts, he’d often end up between dead end jobs and failed businesses, and as newly weds with little money and too much time on their hands that long heady summer, he and Charity spent most of it between sweat soaked sheets. It’s the same kind of desperate, all consuming need to be close that they share with Phillip now.

“Ah yes, those days when we were young and carefree and got enough sleep,” Phineas says, sarcasm colouring his words. Charity playfully headbutts his chin.

Caroline arrived before they’d celebrated their first wedding anniversary, Helen following soon after, and while Phineas wouldn’t change much about how their lives turned out, he’s starkly reminded of the countless nights he spent pacing with his new born daughter sound asleep in his arms, worrying himself sick about how he was going to provide for his small family. He knows he’s incredibly lucky that fear of them starving on the streets no longer haunts his every decision.

The duvet shifts and a long, displeased groan issues from Phillip’s throat.

“Why’re you so damn _loud_?”

Phineas and Charity laugh as Phillip pulls a pillow over his face in a way reminiscent of Helen when she’s overtired.

"And our sleeping beauty is awake."

"Awake and in need of coffee,” Charity stage whispers.

Phineas grunts. “You’re telling me you want me to leave this nice, warm, comfy bed and go downstairs into the freezing cold just to make coffee?”

His grumbling gets no sympathy from Charity, just a peck on the lips and a soft, sweet smile that melts both his heart and any further protests. They all know he’s so thoroughly wrapped around her finger that he’d do anything she asked.

“That would be wonderful, dearest, thank you.”

She clambers over him to straddle Phillip’s waist and knocks the pillow aside. Phillip looks up at her through bleary eyes, hands settling on her hips like they were made to fit there and Charity kisses at the stubborn, unresponsive line of his mouth until she feels the curve of a smile against hers.

Phineas slumps back against the pillows as his loves’ grin around clumsy kisses and murmur their good mornings to each other. Out of all the kisses he’s watched them share over the last few days, this is one of the most innocent, and yet his body begins to react to the sight of them together as if he’s twenty years younger. "Well I’d hate to miss the show."

Phillip lifts his head and glares with his very best attempt at malice. "You'll be missing several body parts if I don't get coffee soon."

" _Phillip_ ," Charity reprimands, his name a burst of laughter. Her teeth find a fresh bruise on the underside of his jaw and she bites, hard, pinning Phillip’s shoulders down as he writhes and hisses.

Phineas drags himself from the bed, pulling a dressing gown around himself as the chill bites into his limbs. The embers in the hearth need coaxing back to life. He goes to the window and peers through the curtain. Another few inches of snow must’ve fallen in the night and their footprints from yesterday are now lost beneath the sweeping landscape of frosty white.

"Your manners are seriously lacking for someone brought up in _polite_ society.”

Phillip huffs and it visibly costs him effort to transform his features into something half way pleasant. Despite being raised to believe he was better than everyone else, mornings are the only time Phillip ever comes close to acting like a snob. "Coffee. Please."

The please added on as an afterthought is, at least, an improvement. Charity catches his eye and he sees the same fond exasperation reflected in her face. Phineas perches on the bed beside them and presses a good morning kiss to Phillip’s temples.

In the calm, controlled voice he knows drives Phillip up the wall, Phineas murmurs a reminder against Phillip’s ear. “That attitude will get you put over my knee if you’re not careful, angel.”

There’s little else Phineas can say that will change Phillip’s mood in a heartbeat. Phillip perks up quicker than a shot of caffeine directly to the veins. The surliness falls away as his pupils dilate. “Is that a promise?”

Phineas answers with a smirk, and the weight of Phillip’s hopeful, heated gaze on his back follows him from the room.

* * *

“Tell me how good it feels,” Charity purrs.

She’s propped up against the pillows on the bed in front of them, wearing one of Phineas’ shirts, the hem line brushing the middle of her thighs. A half finished glass of wine sits in one hand and the other grips Phillip’s chin as he struggles to hold himself on his hands and knees. Phineas moves behind him and the headboard bangs loudly against the wall to the rhythm of his sure, rapid strokes.

Phillip presses his sweat soaked forehead to Charity’s shoulder, his tongue a heavy, useless thing in his mouth as he struggles for speech beyond the pleasure each thrust sparks throughout his entire being. Despite the abundance of oil they’ve used, Phillip still feels the bite of sensitivity from the last time Phineas filled him mere hours before. They've not left the bed all day and Phillip’s muscles ache pleasantly from the exertion of their love making.

“Say it, sweetest," Charity prompts.

Phineas slaps Phillip’s ass and drives into him harder, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the room. Phillip’s eyes roll back in his skull, a breathy “ _oh fuck_ ” escaping him, head dropping between his shoulders.

Phineas fists a hand in Phillip’s hair and pulls him back up until he meets Charity’s eyes.

“Use your words,” Phineas growls. It’s wonderfully demeaning and Phillip whines brokenly; he built his reputation on his way with words and to have Phineas use that against him in such a filthy way sends a spike of desire straight to Phillip’s cock.

Charity wraps her fingers around Phillip’s throat, squeezing just enough to stutter his breath, hard enough to leave an imprint against flushed skin. A shudder runs through his body. The firm pressure against his airway and the grip on his hair holds Phillip in place and on show, the simple act of filling his lungs no longer under his control.

Phillip's arms feel weak, his body rocked with the force of Phineas' unrelenting thrusts. He can't do anything but fist the sheets and take it, unable to hide his face away like he wants to from the intensity of Charity’s gaze as she catalogues each note of ecstasy, each sigh of bliss, watching his features contort with pleasure. She sips her wine like she’s at a dinner party, effortlessly putting him in his place with words and a hand around his throat and Phillip has never felt more alive.

“ _Tell me_ how much you love it. How much you love having our husband inside you.”

Charity relaxes her grip, expecting an answer and Phillip clumsily gulps down air, heartbeat loud and frantic in his ears.

“I love it,” Phillip hears himself say. “Oh God, I love it so much.”

“Good boy.”

Phillip keens softly at the endearment, stirring a familiar flutter in his stomach. Charity brushes the hair from Phillip’s face and sucks his bottom lip between hers, giving it a playful nip.

Phineas presses himself to Phillip’s back and sinks his teeth into the scruff of Phillip’s neck, hard enough to bruise. Phillip whimpers, toes curling in the sheets, feeling small and owned.

"What do we think? Is he allowed to come?" Phineas asks Charity, and the casual tone as they discuss his release like they’re discussing the weather is as infuriating as it is arousing.

Phillip is not above begging. "Please."

Phineas’ laugh rumbles deep within his chest. He reaches around to pinch one of Phillip’s nipples. "Oh, you can speak just fine when you want something, hm?"

“In that case.” Charity takes hold of Phillip’s chin. "If you want to come, my love, you'll have to ask nicely."

His cheeks flame at the prospect, humiliation igniting the desire in his belly and his body quivers with it. When Phillip opens his mouth only a whine comes out, the sound growing loud and indignant as Phineas deliberately holds still while buried to the hilt. Phillip pants raggedly at the fullness, the hot, rigid pressure inside him that scarcely leaves room for breath or thought. Impatient to reach that blissful oblivion so long denied him, Phillip starts to move mindlessly along the length, too far gone to care how desperate he looks rocking back and forth when the friction feels so good.

“ _Phillip_ ,” Phineas chides, a smirk in his voice. A tight fist around the base of Phillip’s cock puts an end to his plans. Phillip’s mouth shapes a wordless scream, eyes watering with frustrated tears. “Do as our wife tells you.”

Charity makes an amused sound. “A lesson you’d do well to learn yourself, Phin.”

Phineas laughs, loud and delighted.

“Fuck, Charity, I need-” Phillip stutters off into a moan as Phineas delivers another slap to his backside.

"Try again."

Phillip claws at the bed sheets and takes a shaky breath that does little to clear the lust fogging his mind. Usually when pushed, Phillip is so very good at finding the right words in the right tone that’ll guarantee his loves will thoroughly fuck him into the mattress. Now his thoughts are consumed by his aching cock and the stretch of Phineas inside him. Phillip looks up at Charity through his eyelashes.

“Please, can I come?”

“There.” Charity smiles with an innocence out of place for the situation. He almost expects to receive a pat on the head. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

Phillip grits his teeth and idly considers how much he’d enjoy hearing her beg for the same when he’s got his head down between her legs. His mutinous thoughts must show on his face and she slaps him across the cheek, light and sharp. Phillip gasps, more from the surprise of it than any pain. Phineas groans and sinks his fingertips into Phillip’s hips like he needs it to ground himself. The sting of the blow comes second to the squirming embarrassment that this is all turning him on so damn much, Phillip’s cock heavy and straining against his abdomen.

Beneath Charity’s sweet smile lurks a current of steel that shows itself in these moments. Phillip welcomes it, _requests_ it of them often, in fact, on nights when he can pick his reward.

“The only words I want to hear from you now are thank you,” Charity says, and though her voice is imperial and dismissive, her eyes smoulder with hunger that has Phillip all too eager to obey.

Phineas pushes Phillip’s head down so his smarting cheek is pressed against Charity’s thigh and pins Phillip’s wrists together behind his back. Dizzying heat pulses through Phillip, legs trembling with the effort of keeping his hips in the air as Phineas fucks into him with single minded purpose. Charity’s fingers tug roughly in his hair, a reminder, and Phillip gasps into her skin, his vocabulary narrowed to a desperate babble of _thank you, thank you_ and _yesyesyes_.

Phineas’ grip tightens around Phillip’s wrists, holding him in place as he comes with a long, sated groan. The feel of Phineas spilling hot and deep inside him finally topples Phillip over the edge.

Phillip’s knees give out from under him, his body wrecked and lost to pleasure as he moans through his orgasm. The breath leaves his lungs under the weight of Phineas collapsing with him, the two of them a panting, tangled slump on the bed.

“Phillip? How’re you feeling?” Charity tentatively touches his cheek, the skin now red and stinging, and Phillip’s grin widens at the thought of the similar marks Phineas must’ve left on his ass. He'll admire the angry scratches along his back in the mirror later.

Phillip hums, stretching out his boneless limbs. He kisses over Charity's fingertips before lacing their hands together. “Heavenly.”

His loves laugh tiredly.

“If you can manage words of three syllables right now, then we’re not doing our job right,” Phineas teases.

“Your names both have three syllables,” Phillip points out. He tries and fails to stifle a yawn. Though the youngest of the trio, he's nearly always the first to fall asleep after sex.

Phineas picks up the duvet from where it was carelessly dumped on the floor and drapes it over them.

"Can we get you anything?" Phineas asks, voice whisper soft with concern, smoothing a hand over Phillip’s hair.

Phillip shakes his head and nuzzles into Charity’s neck. They can read him well enough to know all he requires now is closeness and comfort, two things never denied or begrudged in the Barnum household.

Phineas joins them on the bed and shapes his body to the curve of Phillip's spine, nose brushing the curls at Phillip’s nape.

“Rest now, angel.”

Wrapped safe in two pairs of arms, Phillip’s eyelids flutter shut and he drifts.

* * *

Phillip looks up from the pages of his book to find Phineas’ gaze fixed upon him and a small, contented smile playing around his lips.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Phineas answers, but the word holds a secret.

Silence falls between them, punctuated only by Charity's soft, steady breathing and the crackle of burning wood. Phillip turns the page and doesn’t bother to lift his eyes from the text as he points out mildly, “And yet you’re still staring.”

Phineas runs a hand over Phillip’s hair. The usually impeccably tidy strands have not seen a lick of oil in days.

“Am I not allowed to stare at my husband?”

The title still sends Phillip's insides all a-flutter, no matter how many times a day he's referred to as such. The thought of being someone's husband used to fill Phillip with such dread he'd drink his way to the bottom of a bottle in hopes of damaging his body beyond repair before that hateful future could become reality. The notion of marrying for love was almost unheard of among the swells but Phillip, ever the romantic, never truly let go of that secret dream. Instead he wrote it into his plays and kept searching for the spark of something more in the vacant eyes and stilted words of his parents' suitors. He never expected to find it at the circus, of all places.

Phineas is utterly breathtaking in the fire light, features softened and warmed by the orange glow. Handsome and dashing as a fairy tale prince made real and gazing at Phillip like he's more special than any wonder held under the circus tent.

It's almost his undoing.

Flustered, Phillip holds the book up in front of his face to buy him a few seconds and adopts a poor imitation of O’Malley’s accent.

“Sorry, sir, staring costs extra today.”

Phineas feigns a heavy sigh. “Name your price.”

“A kiss.”

“A fair bargain but how can I kiss you if I can’t see you?”

Phillip holds out his hand. Phineas kisses the back of it.

“Payment declined. Please try again.”

Growling playfully, Phineas snatches the book from Phillip’s grip and pushes him down flat on the couch. Phillip watches Phineas hovering over him, eyebrows raised in challenge. His breath hitches as Phineas leans in, close enough that their noses brush. Phillip wets his lips in anticipation, arching his back a little, wanting it but waiting for Phineas to bridge the distance between them.

Grinning that infuriating grin, Phineas plants his lips instead to Phillip’s cheek, pulling a frustrated whine from Phillip’s throat.

“You didn’t specify _where_ the kiss was to be placed, Phillip,” Phineas chides, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. “Didn’t I teach you better negotiating skills than that?”

The kisses don’t stop there, trailing along his jaw, and Phillip tilts his head back to allow better access to his neck.

“Yet this seems to be working in my favour.”

Phineas’ eyes glow with affection and Phillip shivers beneath the intensity of that gaze. “That’s because I’d gladly pay above and beyond to look at your beautiful face every moment of every day.”

Phillip’s grin turns into something altogether more devious. “If we’re negotiating, then I know where I’d like to be kissed.”

"Show me?”

He guides Phineas’ hands down between their bodies and the book falls to the floor, entirely forgotten.

* * *

Charity wakes groggy and disoriented from her nap. Her limbs are stiff from the extended time spent on the ground, the surface hard and unforgiving even through the layers of blankets. Darkness has fallen in the time she’s been out, the winter stars shining through the undrawn curtains. The fire has burnt down considerably in the grate, the rising goose flesh across Charity’s bare skin offering little protection against the chill. She pulls the blankets around her in a protective cocoon and eyes the empty sofa behind her, wondering where Phillip and Phineas have gotten to.

Their boots still sit on the doormat, their coats on the rack. If she listens closely, Charity thinks she can hear the tenor of their voices from deeper within the house. She lights a lantern, throws more wood on the fire and goes in search of her husbands.

The noises reach her ears before Charity’s sleep addled brain can make sense of them. She pauses, one foot on the bottom stair. The groans and creaks spill around the bedroom door and Charity’s cheeks flood with heat as her mind finally catches up with what she’s hearing.

Phineas and Phillip are known to be particularly vocal when they’re together, a fact most of the circus troupe can unfortunately attest to, and they’re even more so now there’s not two little girls sleeping just down the hall. Charity wavers on the stairs, toying briefly with the idea of going up to join them, but they’re entitled to their alone time, just as she is with either of them.

Charity instead chooses to run herself a bath, turning the water as hot as she can stand it and mixing whole new concoctions from the bottles of fragrance. She savours the moment of sinking her chilled body beneath the steaming surface, thinking back without relish at all the years when they had only had a bucket of icy well water to wash in. Charity would still gladly give up all the luxuries the circus has afforded in recent years just to be with Phineas and Phillip and the girls in a heartbeat. They’ve never needed much to be happy, a lesson Phineas might’ve finally learnt, but if she was allowed to take one thing with her from this life of grandeur, it would be a decent bath. As impractical as that may be.

The water is starting to cool, Charity’s fingertips long ago turned to prunes when she hears footsteps on the stairs and the sound of movement in the kitchen. She thinks she might’ve dozed off a little again, the world the kind of bleary that comes with staying in heat too long, her eyelids heavy as she tries to open them.

The door swings open and Phillip’s head appears around it. A smile brightens his face at the sight of her.

“Ah, here you are. Phin’s just starting dinner. Are you hungry?”

Charity stomach picks that moment to remind her of its presence and its emptiness and Phillip relays her answer over his shoulder.

“Company or no?” he asks, hesitating on the threshold.

Charity holds out her hands to him in invitation, smiling. “Company.”

The bath is too small for them both to fit in comfortably - and they’ve tried. Phillip pulls up a chair beside the bath and laces their fingers together. She kisses over his knuckles before resting her chin there, gazing at him through the lamplight. He’s wearing one of Phineas’ shirts and the material hangs loosely around his shoulders, revealing a blossoming red mark at the base of his neck. Charity carefully touches her fingers to it, Phillip’s cheeks flushing as they share a grin.

"Would you like me to wash your hair?”

Charity brightens at the offer. “Mm, please. That’d be wonderful.”

“Sit forwards for me.”

Phillip grabs a pitcher from the counter and moves his chair so he’s sat behind her. His fingertips trace the curve of her spine like her skin is a map and he’s lost his way from the path. With slow, sure movements, Phillip pours the water over her hair, careful not to let any run in her eyes. Charity feels any lingering tension melting from her body beneath Phillip’s ministrations. Ever since she was a girl, she’s always loved having her hair washed and brushed for her and Phillip’s soft, gentle hands are particularly good at teasing out the tangles.

By the time he’s rinsed the soap clean from the silky strands, Charity’s low, pleased hum is a near constant purr in her throat, her bones liquidised and limbs useless. Phillip presses his lips to her temples, palms rubbing circles into her shoulders.

“Charity?” he murmurs, a smile in his voice.

Words escape her. Charity slumps back against him, wet hair soaking through his shirt. His presence disappears from her and she mourns the loss with a sound she’d be ashamed of at any other time. Phillip returns with a kiss to her crown and her nose picks up a fruity scent surrounding him. Her favourite soap.

His hands move along her arms, down her back, smearing suds across her skin and it takes Charity an embarrassingly long time to realise that he’s washing the rest of her too. She moans softly. Phillip’s hands feel just as good on her body as they did in her hair and she arches into the touch. Her languid heartbeat picks up its pace and then speeds up again at the thought that Phillip must be able to feel its rhythm.

Charity watches Phillip through hooded eyes. His hair, damp from the heat, curls around his temples, sweat gleaming his brow. The borrowed shirt is now draped over the back of the chair affording Charity a view of his muscles shifting as he works. Lethargy gives way to something hot and bright, a hyper awareness of the course Phillip charts across her skin. Phillip catches her eye and his mouth curls into a knowing, sultry grin.

Her body thrums with anticipation as Phillip works his way slowly, methodically upwards from her ankles, caressing her thighs until they part for him. Heat stirs between Charity’s legs and the water ripples around her with each panting breath as Phillip’s fingers reach their target.

“Is this okay?” Phillip pauses to ask, the throatiness of his voice betraying him.

“Yes,” Charity sighs, eyes slipping shut, rocking her hips down against the pressure. Though the pretence of washing has long since been abandoned, Phillip’s hands follow silky soapy pathways along the curve of her waist, over her stomach, the swell of her breasts, and just when a plea is on the cusp of tumbling from her mouth does he return to where she burns hottest for him.

Charity’s release crests over her like she’s rising from beneath the surface; slowly and with a gasp. She shivers and arches and the world becomes the sound of water slopping against the sides and Phillip’s soft moans damp across her skin. His touch is a hot heaviness between her thighs, lingering like he’s memorising her body all over again, drawing out the exquisite bliss until she can stand it no longer and guides his hand away to her cheek instead.

Their noses brush and, this close, Charity can feel Phillip’s grin rather than see it as she tries to catch her breath. She cradles the back of his head and the softness of his mouth against hers has Charity aching all over again, pawing at his shoulders to bring him closer still. He makes a startled noise, bracing his palms against the side of the bath as she tries to pull him in, wanting to wind her legs around his waist-

“I was going to tell you dinner is ready.” Phineas’ drawl creeps in through the steam, his silhouette framed in the doorway. The hunger in his eyes as he smiles at them has nothing to do with food. “But it looks like you’ve gone straight for dessert.”

Charity holds her hand out to him and Phineas crosses the room to join them.

The dinner on the table has long gone cold by the time they get to it.

* * *

They spend their last morning exactly where they’ve spent the majority of their time over the past few days; in bed. Trying their hardest not to notice the hours and minutes counting down to the time they have to catch the train back home.

In true honeymoon style, their days have almost entirely consisted of food, sex and sleep, with the odd snow ball fight when they managed to keep their clothes on long enough to make it outside, and a fair amount of reading. The greatest pleasure came from the extended, uninterrupted time in each other’s company, the fact they’ve had nowhere else to be, nowhere they need to be rushing off to, no one else to worry about and look after but themselves. A concept so incredibly rare in a life as full and complicated as theirs and they know how blessed they are to have been afforded this precious time.

Conversation ranging from the mundane to the ridiculous is punctuated by stretches of comfortable silence and dozing in the winter sunlight. The three of them curled together, limbs entwined, hands absently tracing patterns and kisses dotted along bare skin.

“As much as I’ve loved this, I can’t wait to get back to our girls,” Charity says, the excitement in her voice palpable. “I’ve never been away from them for this long before.”

Phillip lifts his head to look at her. “Really? Never?”

“Until recently, Phineas and I didn’t have anyone else we could leave them with. My parents didn’t know or care that they had grandchildren. We certainly couldn’t afford a nanny. It was just us.”

It’s times like these Phillip is reminded once again that his upbringing was worlds apart from that of the Barnum girls. How he was raised not by his parents but by a small army of staff; nannies, maids, governesses and tutors. If any one of them had shown Phillip a sliver of the care and affection Charity showers her children with, oh how differently might things have turned out.

“What was it like? Your life?” Phillip asks quietly. He knows enough to put together a rough picture; the highlights, the tragedies, the poverty. Phineas isn't one to dwell on the past, preferring to focus on making the future better, brighter. “Before the circus, before Caroline and Helen.”

Phineas and Charity share a look and something passes between them that Phillip cannot read. He thinks he might be the first person to ever ask them that. Charity’s parents would surely turn a blind eye to the living conditions they sentenced their daughter to. The swells take one look at Phineas and think that, because he was born to nothing and grew up a street rat, _that_ tells them everything they need to know about his life, never mind what he’s accomplished since then.

“You’re part of our marriage now,” Phineas says, and it’s a statement Phillip wants him to repeat over and over until maybe it starts to sink in. “It’s only right we should tell you how we got to where we are today.”

They start at the beginning. A tale as old as time; boy meets girl. Society deems that because one of them has money and the other does not, they cannot be friends. But since when has Phineas, even as a young boy, been one to listen to society?

Phineas tells through gritted teeth how a harsh slap across the face and a “stay away from my daughter” changed the course of his life. He would not give up on the girl who saw the magic in the world as he did. He became more determined than ever to do the very opposite, determined to prove he deserved to be treated better than something someone scraped off the bottom of their shoe. Even through Charity being dragged off to finishing school, even through Phineas’ father passing and leaving him alone and destitute in the world.

Charity talks of the letters Phineas used to write her, and this brings a smile to Phillip’s face. He’s honoured to have read a handful of them, precious words on well- worn paper, lovely words Charity has, in part, committed to memory. Letters from a heartsick, homeless boy, letters she wrote responses to that were never and could never be sent. She kept all their correspondence from their long years apart, save for the few that her father discovered on the rare occasions that Charity’s maid wasn’t able to forage them out from the stack of mail first. _Those_ letters her father took great pleasure in making her watch as they burnt and curled into embers.

They tell Phillip the story of their elopement, many years later.

Upon Phineas’ return to New York, Charity had slipped away from her mother and chaperone on a trip to the city to meet up with him in secret. She recalls standing across the street from him, feeling something new and frightening in its intensity blooming in her chest as she watched him turn the brim of his father’s old hat between his fingers, a nervous tell he carries with him to this day. The Phineas that stood across from her was undeniably not a boy anymore but a handsome young man; broader in the shoulders, and at least a head taller than her now. Charity had heard people talk about having butterflies in their stomach and she understood for the first what that sensation felt like when Phineas’ eyes found hers and his face split into that joyful, crinkly eyed smile she remembered. She’d almost been knocked over running out blindly into the stream of carts and carriages but it was worth it to fling herself into his arms. Finally reunited.

If Charity had gotten her way, she would've happily disappeared into thin air and left her parents forever wondering what had happened to her, but Phineas had wanted to do it right. All hell had broken loose when she returned home later that night. In the face of her father’s rage and her mother’s fretting, Charity calmly told them that Phineas would be collecting her in the morning, yes, _that_ Phineas, the tailor’s boy, yes, she was going to marry him, and no, she didn’t seek nor require their permission or blessing.

Phillip has already heard the tale of their wedding day, their first, for they talk of it often with such fondness. That Charity had a bouquet of daisies and wildflowers and wore her best dress, and after the I dos were done, they spent the day arm in arm strolling through Central Park. But this time they let their story extend further, into the unforgettable night that followed, precious intimate memories they've never shared with another soul before.

How, that evening, all those years ago, they'd had a candlelit picnic on the floor of their new tenement and watched the blazing sunset reflected in the windows of the opposite building. And when Phineas carefully placed his hand over Charity's where it rested on the blanket, the last of the barriers between them melted away and they'd fallen into a passionate embrace, drunk on each other, and the exhilaration of not having to hold back any longer fueled their frantic kisses. The years and years of waiting and hoping and wishing was worth it. Phineas laughs now at the thought that they'd almost given the neighbours quite a show, before he'd had the good sense to draw the curtains, scoop Charity up in his arms and take her to bed.

Charity recalls with a sly smile how Phineas had blushed and fumbled unlacing her dress, his hands trembling as he touched her for the first time and the reverence in his face as he did would be forever etched into Charity’s mind. She’d tenderly kissed the tears from his cheeks when they were finally joined together in every way, hands, hearts and bodies, nothing between them but flushed skin and shallow breath, and how she’d rested her head on his chest afterwards, bathed in the peace and contentment she had searched for her whole life. They'd made love all night, full of youthful exuberance and hungry to explore one another completely, Charity recounts, laughing as the tale raises Phillip's eyebrows. The thought of parting even for a second had been utterly unbearable to two souls separated by fate and misfortune for so long, and they’d drifted off into an exhausted slumber with Phineas inside her still just as the sun was starting to rise on their first day of marriage.

"I didn't think we'd be lucky enough to have a second wedding years later, certainly not one involving a third person,” Charity says, gazing down at Phillip with a crooked little smile. “But I always knew life with Phineas would be unpredictable and, most importantly, full of love."

That his life is now full of love is one thing that Phillip never has to doubt again.

He feels it when Charity kisses both husbands on the cheek and settles back into their embrace. He felt it when Caroline and Helen had made him his own card and set of gifts on father’s day. It’s there on days when it seems like he has the whole weight of the world on his shoulders and Anne lets him hide in her caravan and rubs his back and listens to him talk until the words run out and he feels less like he’s splintering apart.

Phillip knows a ragtag, found family of oddities loves and cares for him far more than his own flesh and blood ever could and he made his peace with that long ago.

This is his home now, settled between his loves, between his husband and wife whose last name he could never officially take, but what did that matter when it was official between them in every way that counts?

Phillip wears two rings on the fourth finger of his left hand. Two rings from both halves of his heart, for Phillip was lucky enough to find not one but two loves of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Well done if you made it to the end of this mammoth thing and thank you for reading. Any kudos and comments would make this lockdown experience considerably better.
> 
> Also, thank you to everyone in the fandom who has put out fic recently. It's been a little bit more active here and seeing new fic pop up really brightens my day. 
> 
> Stay safe.


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